


Little Footsteps

by entropynchaos (katonahottinroof)



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Basically Smaug never took over Erebor, Fluff, Gen, Kid Fic, SO MUCH FLUFF, Trigger - kids going missing, but everything ends happily, everything is happy and fun-times, except for when little Dwarvlings wander off, so that's alright, the Dwarves were never dispossessed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 04:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katonahottinroof/pseuds/entropynchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Fíli is ten and Kíli five, they get lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Footsteps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merihn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merihn/gifts).



> Written for Merihn, who very sweetly said "oh my god KATJA I WANT THIS FIC asdfghjklkjhgfdsa". And so I wrote this. Partly inspired by this post (entropynchaos.tumblr.com/post/40089523214/) and accompanying notes, originally by theartfullyartfuldodger and sparklefairyglitterlumpkins on Tumblr.
> 
> Yes, the title is terrible - my mind was literally blank when I tried to think of something. I'm sorry. Although the title of the document on my computer is 'trouble-making brats-under-the-mountain', so. This was supposed to only be 500 words of fluffy escapades, honest, only... only it wouldn't stop!

Imagine a time when the dragon didn’t move on Erebor. Maybe the Arkenstone is never found – maybe that’s what calls out to Smaug and through deep, dark magics, beckons the dragon in towards it to the ruin and destruction of all. But if the Arkenstone isn’t found and the city of Dale is never destroyed and remains under rule of Lord Girion (and eventually his son, and his son’s son) and Erebor never falls and Thror never descends into madness and gold-fever and remains King-under-the-Mountain…

What, then, does that mean for the Line of Durin? The young Dwarf-prince Thorin grows older and slightly wiser, learning from his father and grand-father how to rule without having to learn how to lead his people into the wilderness to forge a new life for them in the lands of others, and years pass and Thrain becomes King-under-the-Mountain when his father dies of old age, and Thorin becomes first in line to the throne and Thorin’s sister Dís falls in love amid a time of plenty and peace and gives birth to her first-born son in the comfort and security of the royal apartments inside Erebor instead of a small (yet comfortably appointed) cottage on the outskirts of a human settlement as she could have done in another life.

And so Dís bears Fíli into the world, screaming and crying as most babies are, regardless of their position in the world or how royal the blood is that flows through their veins – the second in line to the throne after his uncle. And, five years later, Dís gives her young son a brother and names him Kíli. As close as two brothers ever could be – Fíli forging the path with cheeky words and a sweet grin to make even the hardest heart forgive his tricks and pranks, and Kíli stumbling along behind with blind-trust in his older brother, tiny chubby hand held tightly by Fíli as they run along stone corridors through the mountain they call home.

When Fíli is ten and Kíli five, they get lost. Of course, it’s not the first time they’ve gotten lost, but it is the first time they’ve found themselves in a passageway without torches flickering brightly in their brackets on the stone walls. Kíli does _not_ like the dark, used as he is to being underground like any proper dwarf, and Fíli’s already regretting taking that one turn – or possibly it was that other one… – because now they’re lost, and Kíli’s tiny hand is hot in his, holding on tightly like he’s scared he’ll lose hold of his big brother and be lost forever alone in the dark…

Fíli’s not a huge fan of the dark, either, but he’s ten-years-old and that’s an entire fifth to his majority and really much, much older than baby Kíli, so he has to be brave like his mother’s told him, has to hold on to Kíli and not cry no matter how much he wants to, because this passageway looks like any one of a hundred others and Fíli wants his mother, nownow _now_ …

“It’ll be okay,” he says, lacing his fingers with Kíli’s and squeezing in an attempt to reassure, “and think of the stories we’ll get to tell uncle Thorin when we get back!”

“Dun’ wanna,” Kíli lisps, sniffling a little bit. Fíli bites at his bottom lip, chews at it as he thinks. They _could_ turn around – but he’s not entirely sure he remembers which turns they took to get from the main halls to here. “Wanna go back to mama, Fíli…”

Fíli’s nervous, but only a little bit really, because it’s got to be close to dinner-time, now, and surely _someone_ will come looking for them. Only… only what if they don’t know the passageway the brothers have wandered down because it does indeed look like it hasn’t been walked in years… Fíli hopes there aren’t spiders. Spiders, Fíli thinks, have entirely too many legs to be friendly creatures and they move too fast, besides.

“It’ll be fine,” Fíli says. He’s not entirely certain whether he’s reassuring his brother – or himself. “We just need to go down here…”

Fíli’s not stupid – he brought a torch with them and it’s been the only illumination they’ve had in the last _forever_ that they’ve been wandering down here. The problem is that it’s been flickering like torches do when they’re about to die for the last little bit and when it goes out… Well, Fíli’s ten, but he _really_ wants his mama right now…

As if on cue, the torch sputters its last. And then there’s nothing but the darkness around them and Kíli’s chubby hand held tight in his.

Kíli gasps, the sound of it wet and broken like he’s just about to start bawling. Fíli freezes, not sure where to step on the uneven floor and he shudders, cold creeping down his spine. He’s certain that the spiders will be creeping up behind them any second now. They could be huge, man-eating spiders, even, ready to wrap the two little Dwarvlings up in their webs and drag them off so they can store them somewhere and suck out their blood later…

“So… this is fun,” Fíli says brightly, dropping the now-dead torch in order to pull Kíli in tightly, wrapping both arms around his smaller form. Kíli burrows in against his jerkin, tiny baby-hands fisting in the material of it as Fíli shushes him, petting at his little brother’s hair, his eyes wide as he strains to see into the dark around them. “This… this is fun,” he murmurs, and wonders, if he says it enough times, whether he might come to truly believe it.

***

Dís is not worried. She’s not, because the moment she admits to herself that she’s worried, well. Dís is trying not to think about where her little ones have wandered off to. Surely there are only so many places they could have got to, even in a citadel as big as Erebor…

Thorin is remarkably calm when she tells her brother that his nephews have, once again, wandered off. Or he seems like it – there’s a worried glint in his dark eyes but Thorin has only ever known peace and prosperity and plenty and this Thorin (who has never had to watch his grand-father descend into madness, who has never been forced from his homeland by a fire-drake, forced to live a life without a home and always on the move…) knows well the trouble her little ones have been able to get into in the past, barely ten and five and limited to the confines of Erebor though they might be.

So the two of them call away a contingent of the royal guard, dwarves only too happy to spend the next however many hours hunting down the tiny princelings – Dwalin among them because the gruff Captain of Thorin’s personal guard is smitten with Dís’ babies and entirely too over-indulgent with them at the best of times.

By this point, the word has spread that the princes have gone exploring again, and the main halls are quickly established as having no tiny Dwarvlings hidden in their corners – forcing the group to concentrate on the ever darker, twistier passageways that wind out from the deep halls and mines that form the centre of their city. Dís’ heart is in her throat, but her grip on the torch she bears is sure and her step is steady as she leads a party of searchers deeper into the mountain.

***

Kíli’s tears dry up quickly – he’s a cheerful boy and smiles have always come more readily to his face than frowns. Fíli’s glad of it; it’s hard enough to keep himself from despair let alone soothing Kíli’s sobs. Before long Kíli’s fidgeting again, tugging at Fíli’s hand as he twists and pulls to try to see further into the dark. Fíli takes a deep breath.

“Right,” he says, forcing a smile to his face because their mama tells them that you can hear a smile in people’s voices when they talk and a real smile makes the words you speak that much more pleasant to the ear. “Adventure-time, huh, Kíli?”

“Yeah,” Kíli says, giggling and wriggling when Fíli tickles at his little brother’s sides. “An’ dragon-huntin’! …Fíli, can we find a dragon?”

Oh, Fíli really, _really_ hopes they aren’t going to bump into a dragon hiding out in the tunnels.

“Maybe,” he says, heart hammering behind his ribs and smile stuck firmly to his face as if he can force himself to be cheerful by a constant upward-curve to his mouth. “Maybe it’ll be a little baby one and we can take it home and show mama and uncle Thorin.”

“An’ calls it shiny,” Kíli says, almost half to himself as he tugs at Fíli, already tottering unsteadily on his tiny feet down the tunnel. “Because dragons like shiny things and I’m going to find lotsa diamonds and things for it to sleep on and then it’ll stay for _ever_ and take me flyin’…”

Fíli rolls his eyes. Leave it to Kíli to take an idea and run with it beyond all reason. Still, at least his brother isn’t crying anymore – Fíli would do _anything_ to keep his little brother from crying ever again. He keeps one hand on the stone wall, holds Kíli tightly with his other hand and slows his pace so Kíli’s walking comfortably and feels for every step so he doesn’t trip and drag Kíli down with him.

Eventually their eyes get used to the dark – it’s less pitch-black and more differing shades of grey, now. Kíli’s bouncing along, half-singing a song that seems to be a mix of a ballad they’d heard in the feasting halls once and half a ditty of his own devising. Fíli smiles genuinely and laughs when Kíli giggles, the light sound filling the quiet of the tunnel around them. He straightens his back and bares his teeth at the darkness, a tiny warg-cub against the unknown with a smaller bundle of fluff-and-giggles next to him, Kíli’s tiny hand remaining trustingly in his. It’s an adventure, he reminds himself, like the stories of old that Balin and the others – that seem (to the young princeling) to be old, old, old like their grand-father is – like to tell the young Dwarvlings on long winter nights. It’s an _adventure_ and it’s going to be _fun_ and they’ll return with such stories of their own that the King himself will hold them to high renown!

…He still wishes, though, in some small, desperate part of himself that he keeps tucked deep down within, that his mama was there, or maybe their uncle Thorin because uncle Thorin is as huge as a bear, Fíli is certain (although he’s never seen a bear before, but surely there could be no creature in all of Middle-Earth as… as tall and magnificent and… and _majestic_ as their uncle Thorin is!) and twice as fierce as any bear could be with his deep voice equally given to stern commands issued to his soldiers and rolling laughter as he teases and plays with his young nephews. Yes, Fíli would quite like his mama and uncle Thorin and uncle Frerin with his easy laughter and sleight-of-hand he uses to amuse the little ones to be around the next corner waiting for them with open arms, but he’s ten, not a tiny baby like Kíli, and knows that the chances of that are slim indeed.

Never mind, Fíli comforts himself in the privacy of his own mind. He is of the Line of Durin – his uncle and mama have told him that this is Very Important and Fíli supposes that must mean that he has to be Brave and Strong and Look After His Little Brother. He has a vague idea that it also means being King, one day, but that’s somewhat more unsure in his mind than the huge, glorious task of Looking After Kíli because grand-father Thráin is King and uncle Thorin will be King after him and it’ll be years and years and _years_ until Fíli is King and, besides, he thinks he might rather not be King, actually, because it doesn’t seem like Kings get to go exploring the tunnels of Erebor and play-fight with wooden swords like Fíli does with Ori, sometimes, although Ori’s nearly fifty and much more interested in the libraries and the tales of old…

So Fíli likes to ignore the sort of hazy idea of Being King and likes to keep, instead, the idea that Kíli must be Looked After first and foremost in his mind… it’s usually a lot easier to Look After Kíli than it seems to be being King. Unless there are honey pastries around, in which case keeping Kíli safe and off of higher tables is a full-time occupation.

***

Dís is (still) _Not Worried_. She would like that made perfectly clear, because she’s well-aware that her group of the Dwarves that Thorin pulled for search parties are side-eying her and being very, very careful to keep their muttered conversations from her ears. Dís is Not Worried, because this is not the first time Fíli and Kíli have wandered off – although usually they are to be found begging for sweetmeats and dried apple rings to dip in honey from the small army of cooks that keep the city fed or curled up in a comfortable corner together for a nap. Having them actually _disappear_ for hours, possibly down some little-explored and potentially-unsafe side passage is a new one… oh, by her _beard_ , but those boys of hers are going to get such a hiding when she finds them.

So Dís is Not Worried. Not in the slightest.

She might be more than a little frantic, though, however sure her step is and however high and confidently she holds her head as she strides down passage after passage, corridor after corridor leading her little party of searchers after her baby boys.

***

It’s going well, everything’s _fine_ (even given the unrelenting darkness, the fact that they have no idea where they’re going, that they’re probably missing dinner…) and then Kíli trips over something – a crease in the stone, his own feet, Fíli doesn’t _know_ , but he lets go of Fíli’s hand as he falls and lets out a sharp squeak of shock that Fíli echoes as he immediately reaches to try to catch Kíli.

“Oooowwwww,” Kíli sniffs wetly. Fíli doesn’t know what happened, really, but it turns out Kíli hurt his leg or his foot or his ankle… and can’t stand on it, is the point, can’t walk for sure so Fíli soothes away his baby brother’s tears once more and hoists him onto his back, giving him a ride like he’s done a hundred and more times before. Kíli’s arms are looped loosely around Fíli’s neck, his hair spilling forward and brushing against Fíli’s cheek. “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow…” Kíli mutters, picking up on the sound of the word echoing through the passage with seeming delight and almost chanting it as he fidgets in his brother’s hold.

“Kíli,” Fíli huffs, rolling his eyes. He loves his brother, he does, and doesn’t begrudge carrying him, but sometimes he forgets just how young, how much of a _baby_ Kíli still is.

“If I had a dragon,” Kíli says suddenly, voice sweetly cajoling in the manner that’s been employed by them both with great success to wheedle pastries out of the kitchens many times before, “if I had a _dragon_ , then we could _fly_ , Fíli, an’ you wouldn’t hafta carry me! Shiny could carry both of us!”

“Wouldn’t a dragon be too big to fly through here, though?” Fíli asks, genuinely curious as to what Kíli will say to that, because the passageway they’re currently in is barely big enough for three full-grown dwarves to walk abreast. He doesn’t know just how big dragons get, but he’s fairly certain it’s a little bigger than that, at least. Kíli is silent in response and Fíli shifts him up as his grip falters a little.

“Maybe,” Kíli allows after a minute. He sounds like he’s pouting but that, at least, is better than tears. “But dragons are _magic_ , Fíli, mama says so, so maybe… maybe Shiny could carry us through here anyway.”

“Maybe,” Fíli allows as he stops. “We need to stop for a minute, Kíli, my arms are tired.”

“Okay,” Kíli chirps agreeably. Fíli helps him down off of his back and holds on until Kíli gets his balance by leaning against the wall of the passage.

“Stay here a second,” Fíli tells his brother. His eyes may be more used to the dark than they were when the torch spluttered out, but he’s certain there shouldn’t be three walls… unless. “A dead end,” he mutters to himself, shoulders slumping. Oh, of all the passages they had to come down, they took a turn down one which just _had_ to end in a smooth rock face.

“Fíli…”

“Not now, Kíli,” Fíli sighs, resisting the urge to scream with frustration. There’s nothing for it – he’ll have to carry Kíli back the way they came and try another path…

“Fíli…”

…and he’s already so tired because he’s ten and much bigger than Kíli, yes, but he’s still just _ten_ …

“Fíli!” Kíli’s high-pitched voice snaps at him, and Fíli sighs and crouches down next to his brother, reaching out to ruffle Kíli’s hair.

“Sorry,” he says. “I was just thinking.”

Kíli leans in to place a wet, messy baby-kiss against Fíli’s cheek, patting at Fíli’s hair with his free hand. “It’s okay,” he says, like Fíli’s the one who needs looking after and reassurance. “But I was tryin’… there’s…” he trails off, sounding a little frustrated when he can’t quite find the words to explain, then grabs for Fíli’s hand and pulls it to rest against the stone just above his own. “It feels like the cold from Outside-the-Mountain,” he says.

Fíli’s brow furrows, fingers slipping free of Kíli’s hold as he reaches up, up, up as high as he can, following a straight line that feels like a crack in the rock only Fíli can feel the breeze on his skin as well. “Oh,” he says softly, already tracking to the other side of the passage, where… yes, where there’s another line running higher than he can reach and… “Oh, Kíli, you’re so clever!” he praises, turning to hug his brother tight.

“Yup,” Kíli chirps, arrogant and so sure of himself in his young age. “…why?”

“Because, oh, because this has to lead outside,” Fíli says, grinning into the dark, “it just _has_ to!”

“Oh,” Kíli says. “…Fíli, my leg hurts.”

“I know, I know,” Fíli soothes. “Just a little longer, alright? And I’ll get you back to mama, I promise.” He turns to the wall, what he had thought was a dead end, and feels around the hidden edges of the door, because that’s what it must be, as much as he can until there’s some hidden, almost unnoticeable _click_ and the door swings open revealing the setting sun that Fíli screws up his eyes against, used to the darkness of the unlit tunnels by now. He steps out, looking around. There’s a path that’s only just dissimilar enough from its surroundings that it blends in almost completely, and it winds down the gentle slope of the mountain and… there! Down to the left there are the main gates, the huge, imposing statues of ancient and dead Dwarf Kings of age and renown and great, legendary deeds. The pennants are flying above the battlements and, in the distance, the city of Dale lies sprawling across the river.

Fíli turns around with a wide smile, so different from the forced smiles of earlier. In the doorway, Kíli’s leaning against the rock and balancing on one leg, blinking in the late afternoon sunlight. Fíli steps back, scoops him up and hugs him close.

“You are so, so clever!” he praises, laughing. “I’m telling everyone that I have the best brother ever!”

Kíli laughs, too, screeches with delight as Fíli spins around with him. “Flyin’!” he calls, and Fíli laughs.

“See, you don’t need a dragon after all!”

“Nope,” Kíli declares as Fíli comes to a stop. He looks up at his younger brother when Kíli puts both hands flat on Fíli’s head to balance properly. “You’re better’n a dragon!”

“Come on,” Fíli says. He shifts Kíli in his arms until his brother’s perched on his back, Fíli’s arms looped under Kíli’s legs and Kíli’s tiny hands fisted in the shoulders of Fíli’s jerkin. “Or we’ll be late for dinner. I bet if we tell mama just how clever and brave you are, she’ll let you have two pastries after!”

Kíli grins and holds on tighter than he ever has as Fíli starts to carefully pick his way down the slope. “I’m going to give one to you. The biggest one,” he promises and his childish voice is so solemn that Fíli feels, once again, the all-encompassing love he has for his baby brother.

“Maybe we can even have two each,” Fíli suggests.

“Oh! Three!” Kíli says, excited at the prospect of more honey-soaked goodies than he’s ever been allowed to eat in one sitting before.

“Four,” Fíli laughs.

“Um… lots!” Kíli rejoins, shrieking with laughter and bouncing in place on Fíli’s back. “Lots and lots and lots and… an’ no bath-time!”

“I don’t know, you’re sort of messy,” Fíli teases, hiding his laughter and pretending to be oh-so-serious. “All cobwebs and dirt… you might _have_ to have a bath before pastries, even.”

“But if,” Kíli answers, sounding sly and like he thinks he’s truly getting away with something, “if we eat the pastries before mama sees how dirty you are…”

“Me?” Fíli says, feigning shock.

“Fíli,” Kíli says seriously, one hand leaving its hold to brush his fingers through Fíli’s undoubtedly messy hair and braids. “You are lots more dirty than me.”

“Lots, huh?”

“Lots.”

They make their way down, slowly but steadily, stopping every so often so Fíli can rest. Kíli still can’t put his weight on both legs but that’s okay – they’ll be home, soon, and mama will fix it. Mama, Fíli knows, can fix _anything_. There are shouts from the guards in their shining armour as the boys make their way ever-closer to the huge main gates, Dwarves moving about and pointing and Fíli gets Kíli to wave up at them because his arms are both busy keeping Kíli safe on his back.

Their grand-father is at the head of the small crowd that comes running out to meet them. Fíli’s suddenly a little nervous – it’s their grand-father, yes, but they don’t see him half as much as they see their uncles and Thráin is more than just their grand-father. He’s the _King_ and three-times as tall, if not more, than Fíli is. Still, Thráin is all smiles and laughter as he beats the soldiers to his grand-sons’ sides.

“We had you almost given up!” he says, relieving Fíli of Kíli’s not inconsiderable weight, hefting the smaller princeling up to rest on his hip. He beams down at Fíli, crouches to wrap an arm about him and pull him close into a hug and Fíli is suddenly so very, very tired. “Your mother and uncle have been searching the entirety of Erebor for you,” he confides.

“I’m sorry,” Fíli says. He wants to laugh, wants to cry, wants to curl up against the reassuring bulk of his grand-father and fall asleep. It’s been a very long day. Perched in Thráin’s hold, Kíli looks down at him, yawning around his thumb which has found its way into his mouth. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone…”

“Oh, I’m not mad,” Thráin says, still smiling so kindly. Fíli leans in against his side and his grand-father straightens, keeps one hand wrapped about Fíli’s like Fíli had held Kíli’s not that long ago as Thráin leads them back through the soldiers. “I expect you’ve had a wonderful adventure, hmm?”

“Oh yes!” Kíli says, perking up briefly, removing his thumb from his mouth to rub tight-clenched baby fists at his eyes. “We were going to find a dragon, but we found a door instead!”

“A door, hmm?” Thráin says. Fíli looks up in time to see his grand-father roll his eyes. “A truly great secret, then, if it should be discovered by any adventurous Dwarvling.”

A Captain of the Guard chuckles. “Maybe the curious eyes of the young see what the jaded gaze of even the most determined attacking forces may miss in their haste, my King,” she says.

“We can only hope,” Thráin says dryly, and he smiles down at Fíli. “Well, we shall speak about that later, hmm? I’ve no doubt that the two of you are hungry… and sleepy by now.”

“I’m not,” Fíli protests, forcing his eyes open and the Captain who spoke lifts him up high off of the ground, carrying Fíli like his grand-father carries Kíli. “I’m not sleepy _at all_.”

“No, I can see that,” his grand-father says. Fíli fidgets in the hold of the Captain, and his grand-father still doesn’t look angry, not even a very little bit, so maybe it really _will_ be alright. “Have someone call back the search parties, and ask my daughter and son to attend me in my chambers,” he orders, and several soldiers run off ahead into the mountain. Fíli closes his eyes, resting his head against the Captain’s shoulder. Maybe a little rest wouldn’t hurt…

“Oh,” he exclaims, opening his eyes again in panic. “Kíli hurt his leg, earlier. I don’t, I mean, I didn’t mean to let him get hurt…”

“Shh, young one,” the Captain soothes, one hand stroking through Fíli’s hair as she bears Fíli homewards after Thráin. “’Twill all be fine.”

And Fíli means to keep his eyes on Kíli, he really does, but eventually his eye-lids grow too heavy to keep open, and he falls asleep against the Captain’s shoulder as the princelings are borne back into Erebor.

***

Dís is beyond relieved when a messenger comes up and says that her boys have been found (outside the mountain, no less! And how they managed _that_ , Dís has no idea but she’ll find out) and could she please attend His Majesty the King at once?

Dís does please, and hurries off, trailed by members of Thorin’s personal guard and joined, a couple of minutes after hitting the main halls, by her brother and the rest of his men. Thorin grins when he sees her and Dís huffs in exasperation. Always too lenient with her boys, her brother is, and she’d like to give the three of them a hiding at times.

Thráin has retired with the boys to his apartments, and the guards open the tall double doors with bows and ‘your highnesses’ as they see Dís and Thorin approaching with long strides.

“No doubt the boys are fine,” Thorin murmurs to his sister as she pushes in front of him impatiently. “Full of tales of their adventures… and sorely in need of a good bath, unless I miss my guess.”

“In need of a swat to their bottoms and an early bedtime, more like,” Dís mutters, but she can’t deny that there’s probably some truth to what Thorin says.

“Aye, and have you forgotten already the mischief we, and our brother, used to get up to when we were but the ages of your young devils?”

“I,” Dís says, drawing herself up tall before the last door, glaring at her brother, “was never in trouble. _I_ was the good one.” She turns and gestures for the guard to open the door and steps through – though not quickly enough to hear Thorin mutter behind her;

“I’m sure – and it must have been a particularly mischievous spirit that tied together the boots of the guests at that one banquet as they sat at the table, then, and not my honoured sister.”

Dís hears Dwalin snicker at her brother’s side and Thorin chuckle deeply and if she wasn’t so concerned with the matter at hand, she’d allow herself a moment to take them both by the ear and haul them off to set them to drudge work in the kitchens, crown-prince and head of his guard or not – it is, indeed, fortunate for the two of them that Dís is _far_ too mature for any such nonsense – but she can see her boys (dirty, yes, covered in cobwebs and dirt from rarely-entered tunnels, but with smiles on both their faces) sitting at table with their grandfather and a Captain of the King’s Guard listening intently to their stories. There is honey smeared all around their mouths – and coating their tiny hands and smeared down the front of Kíli’s tunic, as well, Dís notes with a rueful grin. Her youngest has more eagerness than table etiquette, and sweetmeats are a temptation not even the most fastidious Dwarvling could resist.

She takes a deep breath; her eyes are fixed on her boys as they sit there safe and sound, and Dís leans into Thorin’s steady hand press against her shoulder before she steps forward into the warmth and light of her father’s chambers.

“So, it’s honey pastries for supper?” she asks, forcing her heart-beat back down to normal as both Fíli and Kíli turn towards her, smiles lighting up their faces. Fíli slips down off of the bench and runs to her but Kíli remains where he is next to Thráin. Despite the dirt (and the sticky mess that the honey has left) Dís sweeps Fíli up into her arms, hugging him tightly to her.

“Kíli said he needed them,” Fíli says seriously, if somewhat muffled where he’s hiding his face against her shoulder, “to fortify him for the dreaded bath.” He pulls back to give her a conspiratorial look. If there’s one thing her youngest hates more than he loves sweet treats, it’s a bath. More than once Dís has had to enlist Fíli and both of her own brothers as well as her lady’s maids to corral Kíli into his evening bath.

(Strangely, Kíli always shows an equal vehemence for _leaving_ his bath once in it as he displays for getting into it beforehand. The workings of the mind of a five-year-old are, apparently, to be forever a mystery.)

“We nearly founded a dragon!” Kíli chirps up.

“Found,” Thráin corrects, gently. “Founded means something different altogether.”

“Yup!” Kíli continues, accepting the correction as blithely as the young and small often do and moving on as if not put off his tale in the slightest. “And I was going to call it Shiny, because dragons like shiny things, uncle Frerin told us so, but Fíli said it might not fit through the passageways so maybe we shouldn’t find one after all an’ Fíli carried me for miles, mama, and I hurt my leg but it wasn’t Fíli’s fault at all and do you want a pastry?”

Dís blinks. Beside her, Thorin clears his throat like he wants to laugh. Her father, King-under-the-Mountain, exalted amongst Dwarves, respected by Men and Elves for the fairness and strength of his rule, has the nerve to look sheepish.

“How many pastries and sweetmeats have they eaten?” Thorin asks, voice trembling with – Dís suspects – sheer amusement.

“Lots,” Fíli says, with a wicked grin at his uncle as he sits in his mother’s arms. “Lots and lots. Kíli had more, though he gave me the biggest.”

Dís closes her eyes and slowly, carefully, curses Mahal for her lot in life.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr - entropynchaos


End file.
